I’m a procrastinator. I can’t help it; it’s in my DNA. I was gonna write this blog today two months of todays ago. But why do today what you can put off ‘til tomorrow, right? I also hate obscene ticket service – ahem, “convenience” – fees (I just bought a $350 music festival ticket that had $59 in service charges. Two of ‘em, actually. Damn, that was a painful display of whorish thievery – nothing convenient about it). I also suffer certifiable FOMO. If there’s a show my friends are going to, I just gotta be there.
“Who’s playing again?” (Is that my FOMO speaking, or my faltering memory? Here’s the YouTube link, in case you’re interested)
Those were ominous co-conspiring afflictions for someone who’s waited months for a show that was happening in, like, six hours – two months ago (let me tell you about my procrastination). So it was they conspired against me on that March Saturday when I called the Fillmore Miami Beach looking for A ticket for that evening’s Gary Clark Jr. concert.
“Tell me you have tickets available for tonight’s show,” I begged meekishly of the woman in the box office.
“No,” she answered without hesitation, no hint of meekishness to be heard. “It sold out this morning.” THIS morning?
“Fuck,” I blurted, followed by an immediate and again meekish, “Sorry.”
“Not even one?” Well, you know the answer. This article would screech right here if she miraculously said, “Why yes! I do have one ticket.”
Sorry, my ass. I wanted One Damn Ticket. The perils of my procrastination cursed me again. Not the first time, won’t be the last, I reckon.
Frustrated, but undeterred, her utterance unleashed a ticket search-and-recovery odyssey common to the digital age. I was Charlie, and I was out to find that golden ticket, well, digital ticket?
I GTS’d and found a bunch of ticket sellers, you know, those whores who hawk insanely priced tickets to procrastinators scrounging the web’s “resale market.” Insensced at the blatent, unrepentent whorishness (I mean, who likes that doormat TM anyway?), I then went to sites I’d hope might be gentler on the wallet – those of the Fillmore, the promoter, and the musician.
Nothing seemed available or reasonable.
Then I thought about how I’d previously scored or unloaded tickets. I’m part of a Ticket Amigos, a private Facebook group for people in search of (ISO) or selling (FS) show tickets. Scalpers are persona non grata. Members promise never to charge anything more than face value plus bona fide service fees.
So I posted my ask. Strike that. I posted my plea. It was 2:53 p.m.
I then scrolled through the site to see if others had already offered ticket FS.
Then the magic of the interwebs shone thru. Someone saw my ask and tagged a friend they knew was selling a ticket. Screw Kevin Bacon’s six degrees of separation. I was two from Gary Clark Jr.
I private messaged the seller. It was 2:57 pm.
Exactly 30 minutes later, she replied from the seat of a plane that was about to push back from the jetway.
By 3:30 p.m., Georgiana and I had a deal.
Here’s where ticket resales marketplace requires a leap of faith. Who clicks Enter first? The seller, who’s relinquishing possession before the buyer swipes to Venmo the coin?
Or the buyer, who’s releasing money on faith that the seller will deliver?
One caveat: Ticket Amigos is a private group. You have to be invited in, and “vetted” by administrators. Get reported for screwing over a buyer or seller, and you’ll be blackballed. That’s the Ticket Amigos version of Verified Resale. It’s not perfect, but screw someone over just once and you’re gonzo. That’s some good mojo right there, at least good enough for me at that moment.
So I Swiped first. In a digital flash, she had my $40 (talk about painless, it’s not like it was my mortgage payment we’re talking here). I did promise her a drink when we both were at the Fillmore later. Georgiana then transferred the ticket to my TicketMaster account.
I went back and revised my Amigos post. “Mission: Accomplished.”
So there it is, one procrastinating, ticket-fee hating, FOMO-suffering concert goer’s experience with scoring a ticket to a sold-out show in the digital age. This tale may be novel for some 50-something boomer. I’m sure it’s all kinda passé for millennials, like a punk kid programming the time on a some Neanderthal’s VCR (do they even use those any more?).
BTW, Gary Clark Jr. was bad-ass that night. The Fillmore was packed tight. Never did see Georgiana to thank her in person. Maybe we’ll meet up again on the open ticket marketplace. Assuming my ways don’t change – and my procrastination isn’t miraculously cured.
Wanna see how bad-ass he was?